Pas de Deux
by DispatchesFromDistrict7
Summary: AU. Katniss and Peeta, two principal dancers at the Panem Ballet Company, must honestly communicate in order to address a newly arisen trust issue affecting their performance. Originally written for S2SL.


CLAP – CLAP – CLAP. "Now that move is going to get everyone's attention at our opening. You know, with Sweetheart's blood all over the floor." Haymitch chuckles a bit to himself as he pulls a flask from his jacket and takes a swig.

"Haymitch—" Peeta starts, only to be interrupted immediately by the director of the Panem Ballet Company.

"Boy, don't you try to placate me with that silver tongue of yours. If Johanna here hadn't caught her, we wouldn't even be talking right now. We'd be on the way over to Memorial." Haymitch pauses to take another sip of whatever brew is in his flask.

This time my pas de deux partner keeps silent. I know better than to speak up when Haymitch is this angry. We've been off all night and I think it's my fault—mostly. Technically, Peeta executed everything perfectly, at least to anyone watching. It's probably just my imagination, but something feels off with him. Despite my fervent hopes and the copious amounts of tequila that he'd ingested, he must remember what happened the other night after all.

"Johanna and Finnick, out," Haymitch shouts before caustically adding, "We don't need spotters any longer and I need to talk to the _stars_ of our new production."

I watch our friends exit the room, wishing I could go with them. I feel Peeta's hand creep around my waist, pulling me close to him. His grip is the surest it's been all night, allowing me to rest against his solid chest as we prepare to be bawled out.

To my surprise Haymitch's voice is quiet, "I've been director of this company for a long damn time, and what I saw tonight—from no less than two of our principal dancers—makes me start to sincerely question my judgment in talent. Rather than seeing the partnership you two have been building full of grace and cohesion, I saw what looked like two dancers meeting on the Academy floor for the first time. There was not trust on either of your parts."

I peek up and see Peeta's cheeks turn scarlet and his eyes shutter. For once, I have no idea what he's thinking.

"That last failure of a lift was the final straw," Haymitch continues. "Sweetheart here has been unsure on her feet all night. Katniss, you are seriously lucky to not have broken a toe or ankle a couple times. Anyone who was a lesser dancer would have." Haymitch pauses to let this sink in before turning to Peeta. "Boy, you are very lucky spotters were in the room because you nearly dropped her on her head. I can tell something is going on with the both of you. You have tonight to figure it out or I'm giving Finnick and Annie your parts and you both can learn what it's like to be in the chorus."

We watch Haymitch lightly pad out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a grace that hints at the dancer he once was. Looking at the clock, it's already ten. Everyone else is probably at home in their beds. Nevertheless, Peeta and I have to figure this out by morning no less. Or maybe noon, knowing Haymitch will likely finish off his flask tonight.

"So what now?" I ask my partner, my friend.

The side of his mouth quirks up. "Why don't we start by taking off those shoes?"

I look down and chuckle. It's late and we're alone. Nothing we have to work on right now is too complicated, and it's safer out of the pointe shoes. So I drop to the floor, untie the ribbons, and ease them off. I'm stretching my cramped toes when Peeta reaches for one of my feet. I hadn't even noticed that he'd dropped to the floor beside me.

He massages my feet and helps me flex them, rubbing his knuckles down the arch and causing an appreciative moan to escape. He's been doing this for me since we were at the Academy, even when my toes were good and bloody from a day of hard practice. He doesn't care about my bunions, blisters, and scars. Besides, he has plenty of his own from when he blew out his knee. Some thought it might end his career. I am grateful every day that he recovered. As Haymitch reminds me often, I could live a thousand lifetimes and never find a better pas de deux partner—at least for me. While a dancer will have many partners in her life, sometimes there is one for which it is magic, which is probably one of the reasons why what happened the other night scared me so much.

Once he finishes with my feet, he stands and offers a hand to help me up. He takes my shoes and walks off to the side of the room towards the stereo system.

I watch as he flips through the music on his iPhone and plugs it in. "Considering we may be at this _all night long_ , why don't we do something a bit of fun?" he suggests as he hits play. An inelegant snort escapes me as I hear the familiar opening chords of the Lionel Richie tune featured way too often at the jazz classes we attended when we were kids.

My head falls back and I laugh as Peeta steps his way back to me to the beat of the music before inviting me to join him. It's been too long since we've done this—just let ourselves be silly and creative. Ballet can be a possessive mistress, but right now we escape as wee integrate steps from jazz and modern to the upbeat tune

Soon the song winds down and the music transitions into Cyndi Lauper's _Time After Time_. Peeta pulls me into his arms, firmly grasping my hand, and begins to lead me into a rhumba. My other hand moves to his bare shoulder. Heat pours off him and he's covered by a fine mist of sweat. I inhale, taking in his scent. Some girls complain about how much their partners reek by the end of a practice or a performance, but Peeta has always smelled good to me—a combination of dill and cinnamon and something that is uniquely him.

Our hips move in time to the music. When he releases my waist to lead me into a turn, I find myself missing his touch, but soon enough his hand finds its way back, sending shivers up my spine. I need to face this. I need to face him.

I gaze up into his eyes. His smile flattens and his eyes shutter as he releases my hand, stepping away and not looking at me as he walks over to the stereo. He turns off the music and the room fills with silence. It's only then I realize that I'm holding my breath. Forcing myself to breathe, I will myself to have the courage to say what I need to say.

Peeta finally turns back toward me. "I shouldn't have said what I did the other night. I'd had too much to drink, but that's no excuse."

"So you didn't mean it?"

"Of course I meant it. Katniss—you have to know—I've loved you for years. I had a crush on you when we were four and in beginners together, but I knew it was love once we began dancing together at the Academy. However, it wasn't fair to you—to put you in that position. I'm your partner and I know you love me as a friend. At least, that's what you tell me all the time!" His eyes dance the last part.

He's my best friend and I do love him. And after what happened last Friday night when I brought him home, I spent the entire weekend cleaning my little studio apartment from top to bottom, trying to decide if my love for him was more than that of a friend. Until that night, Peeta has never said he loves me, and so I know that when he asked me to stay and mumbled it before passing out on his bed that he meant it. At the time, his confession caused what I can best describe as pain to fill my chest. It was a feeling that I didn't fully understand but can best liken to a deep wanting. Something in me wanted to tell him that I would stay always and crawl into the bed beside him, but then fear took over and I ran.

Peeta's eyes darken once again. "It wasn't right to do that to you. I understand our relationship, but sometimes it feels almost real. You being in love with me. But I know it's for show. That's what we do. Perform for the audience." He shrugs and turns away once again.

I can't stand this any longer. I stride towards him before wrapping my arms around his chest, startling him. He's always said how amazed he is at how silent my feet are, so much quieter than the other dancers'. I press myself against his back and rest my cheek against the soft fabric of his tank top. "Peeta, I love you."

His breath catches and I continue, "I mean, I really love you. I've spent all weekend trying to pull apart what I feel and I realized one thing. I need you."

Peeta tries to pull away, but I hold him to me. "Katniss, I don't want you to need me. I want you to love me."

"Shut up, Peeta. You misunderstood my meaning. I've always taken care of myself and my sister. I've never needed anyone since my father died. You are it. You are the first person I've needed. And I need you so that I can fully be me. I need you challenging me. I need you to give me strength. I need you to make me laugh. I need you tempting me with cinnamon buns when I know better. I need your trust. This need – I think it's love, but it scares me." I pause then and correct myself, "No, it scared me. That's why I left that night. That's why I didn't answer the phone or your texts this weekend. I was scared, but I'm not anymore."

"Katniss, can you let me go?"

"No, not until I know you are going to stay."

"Always."

I release my grip and my arms fall limply to the side. Peeta turns around before grasping me by the waist, picking me up and carrying me backwards. Suddenly my back hits the mirror and my bottom rests on the barre. I watch as his lips descend on mine for our first real kiss. They're soft but firm, and he brushes them across my own before I open slightly so that his tongue can inquire. In response, my jaw releases, inviting him in. His tongue slides against my own and fire consumes me as I press against him. His lips leave mine and travel across my jaw and down my neck, eliciting a moan. I press even closer, feeling his growing hardness despite the constriction of his dance belt. I move to nip his earlobe and then kiss along the rough whisker of his jawline before finding his lips once more.

Peeta pulls away and steps back, causing me to I slide off the barre and onto the floor. He pants, "We have to stop."

"I don't want to," I whisper back and give him a small smile.

A grin spreads across his face. "I don't either but this," he points down, "is starting to get a bit uncomfortable."

I laugh and untie my skirt, watching the chiffon flutter to the floor before hooking my fingers into the shoulder straps of my leotard. Pulling it down towards my waist, I tease, "Then why don't you get more comfortable? That's what I'm doing."

Peeta has always been a smart man. I've no sooner divested myself of both my sweaty leotard and tights when he picks me up once again, lifting me up against the mirror wall once more. I wrap my legs around his waist and he presses against my folds as his lips descended onto my clavicle. I purr, enjoying the feel of his scruff against my skin. My hands trail up and down his back.

"I want to be inside you so badly, Katniss."

"Me too."

He continues to rock against me, causing liquid to pool down below. He slides his hands down my arms and moves them to my waist, stabilizing me against the barre as he kisses his way to my ear before hotly whispering, "I want you to watch as I enter you for the first time."

Peeta steps away and helps me land on my feet before turning me around. He presses against my back, running his hands up and down my arms lightly. He kisses the side of my neck as he carefully places first one hand, and then the other, onto the barre. His hands trail back up my arms and then over to my breasts. After gently tweaking my nipples, his hands meander down my ribcage to my hips. Keeping me against him, he takes a few steps back, forcing me to bend toward the barre.

One hand moves further down to softly comb my short curls as he nudges my legs apart with one of his knees.

His fingers dip into my folds to stroke me. "You're so fucking wet!"

The only response I can muster is an incoherent "Uh" as his fingers being circling my clit. I rock against his hand, pushing my bottom even closer to his groin.

"Katniss, open your eyes."

Peeta gives me one of his sweet smiles, but something burns hotter in his eyes as he positions himself. He enters me in one solid stroke before pausing so I can adjust, waiting until I rock against him to move.

"You feel so good. I'm not sure I'll last very long this first time. Or be that gentle."

In the mirror, I look into his eyes. "We have plenty of time for slow and gentle later."

Afterward, Peeta cradles me against him as he sits against the mirror. When we finally catch our breaths, I suggest, "Maybe we should get you home?"

He quirks a brow. "Maybe you should," he says, responding the exact same way he did last Friday night at the bar when I posed the exact same question. He then adds, "You are going to stay this time right?"

I answer him with a kiss.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Originally written for S2SL to raise funds to research cures for DIPG, a rare childhood cancer.**

 **Thank you very much Pookieh for being an amazing beta.**

 **By the way, my jazz classes as a kid always played Lionel Richie's All Night Long.**

 **The characters are the property of the amazing Suzanne Collins and do not belong to me. I occasionally weave lines from her novels. Those totally belong to Ms. Collins too.**

 **If you'd like more information about my fanfiction, please visit my Tumblr: dispatchesfromdistrict7.**


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